Drabble Dump
by Charlie Grayson
Summary: Exactly how it sounds. I do take requests via PM. Find guidelines on my profile. Chapter 7 - Nightmares: "This was silly, she could easily sleep in her own room without having to disturb anyone else. But then she thought back to all the times he – or others – had crawled into her bed for this exact reason and she swallowed her pride."
1. Jay Meets Jim

He stood on the doorstep nervously fidgeting, constantly adjusting is shirt and then shoving his hands back into his jean pockets. His clothes felt like a second layer of loose skin, uncomfortable and heavily hanging off of his body. He was a bit ashamed to admit even to himself that it'd taken him hours just to pick out the jeans and simple white button down shirt that he may or may not have snuck out of his brother's closet to wear.

 _Why is it taking so long?_

It felt as though hours had passed between this particular moment and when he'd knocked on the door in front of him, and during those few brief moments the temperature had skyrocketed. White was a choice he regretted making as he began to sweat on the doorstep.

Luckily, the door swung open and he was saved from his outdoor hell only to be brought into a new, unfamiliar hell.

"Jason," said the girl who opened the door. She was smiling wide, her perfect teeth shining through her pink lips. Her red curls were tied back into a pony tail, a few stray hairs falling in front of her bright blue eyes. Jason could see the freckles that dotted along the apples of her cheeks, as well as the specks around her exposed shoulders around the purple straps of the tank top she was wearing. The hand which was not holding the door open for him was shoved into the pocket of her own jeans and she was patiently waiting for him. Barbara looked adorable and casual and Jason was suddenly wondering if he overdressed. "I was beginning to worry you got lost."

The realization that the door was open and she was waiting for him to enter the house dawned on him and he hurried past her through the doorway, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek as he did so. "Of course not," he mumbled. "I just couldn't decide whether I should bring something or not."

Barbara closed the door and leaned against his side, her hand on his chest toying with the buttons of his shirt. "Nope, we've got dinner covered," she confirmed. "Come on. We've been waiting for you."

Jason's heart leapt into his throat, now feeling like the bad guy at the dinner party. He hadn't known they'd waited on him, he also hadn't known he was so late. He'd carefully planned his preparation for the evening down to the minute but then had gotten caught up stumbling over his nerves and lost track of time.

Not that he'd ever admit that to his girlfriend.

She had him by the hand now, leading him out of the living room by the door. His senses were on high alert, but he was too distracted to even notice his surroundings. It took more than a few seconds to process what color the drapes were (they were pale green, the color of the fabric old and faded with years of use). No, Jason was directing the energy normally used for observation to composing himself instead.

They rounded a corner and entered a dining area, with a quaint round table that was set with three plates and several dishes of food in the center. Standing with his hands on a chair that supported his weight at the head of the small table stood a gruff looking man with wrinkled and grey features. When the pair of younger adults entered the room, he straightened up and shifted his expression to a more pleasant one. "You must be Jason," he said extending his left hand. "I'm Barbara's dad, Jim. Don't call me that."

Jason did his best to pull of the casual smirk that he was known for, but something told him that it came across as more of an awkward shrug. "Of course, sir," he said, taking Jim's hand and shaking it firmly. Confirmation that the handshake was solid came when Jim's face shifted once more in surprise at the strength behind it. "Sorry I'm late, important work matter that I had to attend to."

Jim pursed his lips together and furrowed his brow. "Well, you can tell us about it while we eat, then."

A brief feeling of panic set over Jason, as he hadn't had a 'work matter'. He didn't even have a 'real' job. But he couldn't tell his girlfriend's dad that on the first time they met.

Well, they'd met before. But Jim didn't know that Jason used to be one of his least favorite sidekicks, and had become the murderous vigilante that occasionally left a pile of bodies for the GCPD to clean up. Of course, he couldn't tell him that _either_.

He settled his stomach with the thought that Jason lied to people all the time. They all did. It was in the job description. Just use a classic. It'll be fine.

Barbara sat down to the left of Jim, Jason across the table from her to his right. "So what happened that was so pressing, Jason?" Jim asked as he grabbed a bowl of mashed potatoes and began scooping them onto his plate. His gaze switched between the potatoes and Jason's eyes, waiting patiently for the answer.

Jason looked to Barbara for a moment, panic rising once more. She smiled reassuringly, raising her eyebrows in an effort to prompt the answer out of him. "I manage a security team that guards the warehouses by the docks, and there were a couple alarms going off," Jason said. His voice was surprisingly smooth despite the erratic beating of his heart. "They just can't seem to get anything done without me, so I had to deal with it the best I could without driving all the way down there."

"I know how that song goes," Jim mumbled, passing the potato bowl to Jason as he accepted the plate of roast from his daughter. His mustache seemed to animate his words as he spoke. Rather than think about his nerves, Jason imagined a cartoon version of Jim Gordon gruffly eating a roast as he talked about his office troubles. "I'm the police commissioner, and I can't even begin to count all the things I've missed or been late to because of some kind of emergency at the precinct."

"Not without cause though, daddy," Barbara chimed in, smiling down at her plate as she shoveled some corn into a pile near her potatoes. "You've probably saved this city almost as many times as Batman."

Jim scoffed at the mere idea. "Oh, I wouldn't go that far," he grumbled. "Batman does a lot more than an almost retired cop ever could."

Sensing his opportunity to brown nose, Jason spoke up once more. "Well, Batman couldn't do any of what he does without you," he said. This was not only an attempt to kiss ass, but the truth. As a former Robin, Jason knew firsthand how important the Commissioner's support of the Bat clan was, and how imperative it was to the work they did. "Imagine how many lives he would've saved if the old Commissioner had kept up his hunt for the Batman and he'd been arrested."

Jim looked up at him briefly, recognizing his comments for what they were. The corner of his mouth perked up a bit and he chuckled quietly. "You're smart, kid," he said. "Barbara didn't tell me you were so smart."

When the old man's eyes fell back to his plate, Jason peeked at his girlfriend and breathed a sigh of relief at her thrilled expression. "I figured it went without saying that I wouldn't date an idiot," she said, raising one eyebrow towards her father.

"Oh, you've dated plenty of idiots before." Jim was pointing an accusing fork at his daughter now, a mouthful of half-chewed roast in his cheek as he spoke. "What was that guy you were with in high school? The rich one?" He forked another helping of meat into his mouth, and Jason was almost mesmerized by the fact that none of it even _touched_ his mustache. "Rich Grayson? The boy Wayne took in."

Jason's heart skipped a beat, a weird mixture of delight and despair settling into the pit of his stomach. Jim Gordon thought Dick was an idiot brought him such pleasure that he was almost ready to run out of the house and call Tim. But being reminded of the fact that his current girlfriend dated his older brother first was enough to keep him grounded. "Dick Grayson?" he asked sheepishly.

Jim waved his fork-less hand at Jason excitedly. "That was the one!" he said. Now he was looking over the brim of his glasses at Jason skeptically. His lips were pursed together in though before he took another bite. "You actually kind of look like him," he observed. Then waving his pointer finger around his own forehead. "Except for the white. What's that about anyway?"

"It's a long story, dad," Barbara cut him off, taking Jason's answer right out of his mouth. "One for another time. How was work today?"

 _ ************LINE BREAKER!************_

"Allow me," Jason said, scooping Jim's clean plate from his hands. He had a stack of all three plates, the potato bowl, and the roast plate precariously balanced on his hand and with a small smirk, ducked into the kitchen.

Barbara sat back down, a content smile on her lips. "So what do you think?" she asked, though she thought she already knew the answer.

Jim huffed at her, an almost unnoticeable smile on his own face. "He's a good kid, good head on his shoulders," he said.

"I knew you'd like him," she gushed, resisting the urge to throw her arms around her father's neck.

"I wouldn't go that far," he cautioned. "He's decent, I guess." He began to rise from his seat, stretching his back as he did so.

Barbara smiled smugly. "You like him," she decreed. "You don't have to lie to me."

Jim walked towards the living room, bending down and pressing a fatherly kiss to his daughter's forehead. "He's not good enough for my daughter," he said gruffly before making his way to the couch in the living room. "But no one is."

Just then Jason re-entered the dining room, a grin on his lips. "You ready to go, babe?" he asked.

She nodded, standing from her own chair and touching her fingertips to his forearm, just where the sleeve ended below the elbow. Her eyes grazed over his appearance, as it wasn't often she got to see Jason in such a wardrobe. "Yeah, let me just say goodbye."

Jason watched a bit uncomfortably as Barbara hugged her father, then extended his hand towards him. "Pleasure to meet you, sir," he said stiffly.

"Likewise," Jim said, shaking his hand just as firmly as he had earlier in the day. "See you around." His lips were pursed and his eyes narrowed, a subtle warning from a father to his daughter's boyfriend. Jason expected nothing less.

Barbara interlocked her arm with Jason's, pulling him away from her father and out the door. "Bye daddy, see you next week."

They stepped out into the cold November air, darkness surrounding them now. Barbara's apartment was only a few blocks away, and had Jason known it would be this cold he would've driven so as to make it home before his date became an icicle. Barbara was only wearing a tank top, and if he'd had his usual leather jacket he would've offered it to her. But the best he could do now was drape his arm over her shoulder and offer his own heat to her.

"So," she said, her teeth chattering together. "I didn't think you'd be that nervous."

He rolled his eyes, the smirk forming on is face easily now. "Shut up," he muttered, jostling her a bit.

Laughing, she shoved him back, but not enough to force her heater away from her. "I don't think I've _ever_ seen you that nervous!" Her fingers found his draped over her shoulder and interlocked with them, while her other hand toyed with the buttons of his shirt once more. "And I know you got this out of Dick's closet. Is that why you were so late?"

"No!" He said, just a little bit too loud. "I wanted to make a good impression! Sue me!" His cheeks were warm with flush now, embarrassment rising in his chest.

Barbara settled into step with him, carrying the weight of his arm on her shoulder. "Why?" she asked, looking up into his face with a goofy grin on her face. "You've never cared what anyone thinks of you. Why start now?"

Jason shrugged, momentarily relieving her of the weight on her shoulders. "You and your dad are close," he murmured. "I knew it was important to you that he like me, so it was important to me, too."

Her eyes widened in surprise. That wasn't the answer she had been expecting. Some form of blatant denial was what she'd been expecting, but not raw honesty like that. After a few steps, her face relaxed into a lazy, content smile and she nuzzled into the crook of his arm as they walked, seeking his warmth. "I love you, Jason Todd," she said, her breath forming a small cloud as she spoke.

"I love you too, Barbara Gordon."

 _ ************LINE BREAKER!************_

 **Taking requests via PM now for Drabble Dump. Guidelines are on my profile.**


	2. Bruce's Letters

The Manor had never been a particularly loud place, quiet almost always seemed to echo off the marble floors and wooden walls. Ever since Bruce was a boy, silence was heard more often than not. Alfred would sometimes play music throughout the day, but during the evening, Bruce would prefer the quiet. If anything, it seemed to accentuate the sadness that had always been held in by the extravagant mansion.

Sadness which, these days, was almost too heavy to bear, especially for the old Englishman. Days would pass and he would witness his Master Bruce – his son – go without sleep, food, smiles.

Indeed, a new sadness had fallen over the Manor as of late. A strange mixture of despair and guilt, but the halls were no longer silent. Now they were hollowed with the dead echoes of laughter of a young boy.

Alfred had closed the door to Jason's room, and in the weeks since the young boy's demise hadn't once opened it. He'd heard the door open and shut once or twice since Bruce's return home, once on the first night and again the night of the funeral. Alfred felt crushed by the despair of missing Jason, but it was worsened by watching Master Bruce torture himself with guilt over what had happened.

With sad eyes, Alfred watched Bruce shake his head at the computer, constantly searching and never finding. Solace did not exist in the world for that newest blow Bruce's already battered heart had taken. Receiving advice from a friend had inspired Alfred, and now he was preparing to bestow that help unto the broken man he'd spent so many years building.

"Master Bruce," he said, startling the man in question. Just another sign that Bruce needed to rest.

Bruce turned to look at him, providing further, unnecessary evidence. "Yes, Alfred?" His face sagged, pale and purple beneath his bloodshot eyes. It was as if his skin itself had grown exhausted and hung from where it was supposed to be. He sat in his swivel chair, still wearing the Batsuit from two days ago. His eyes looked desperate, hoping that Alfred would tell him that it was all fake. All a sick, twisted nightmare.

While the butler did wish that he could make such a promise, even he didn't have that power. "Sir, I know that our recent loss has taken its toll on you, but I feel that you must take care of yourself before something happens," Alfred said. He saw Bruce's features harden, preparing to reject the idea. "You must talk to someone, Sir. You cannot keep your guilt inside of you."

Bruce stood up, anger settling on his jaw. "I can carry it, Alfred." He said, moving past the old mad.

Sighing, Alfred refreshed his resolve and tried again. "When you were a boy, and we lost your parents, you would write to them on holidays. Do you remember that, Sir?"

Somewhere off in the cave, Alfred heard Bruce's response. "Yes, of course I remember that, Alfred." He suddenly reappeared behind the butler, wearing a fresh suit and making his way to the table of utility belts. "I have to assume you have a point?"

The anger and the underlying grief were clear in Bruce's tone. "I do believe Master Jason would've loved to receive such letters, don't you?" he said. And without another word, the butler had turned and headed up the stairs back towards the despair filled hallways of his home.

Bruce stood, frozen in place by Alfred's words. He held the cowl in his hands, ready to put it on and head out for the fourth patrol of the evening. The words rang in his head, echoing around like a bouncy ball. Bruce would give _anything_ to be able to speak to his son one last time, to apologize, to tell him he loved him, to beg him not to go. The fact was that he could **not** do that, and that he was to blame for that.

But he looked up at the case where he'd placed Jason's suit on display, and thought of all the things he'd like to say. His stomach felt full and empty all at once with the despair of his guilt. His eyes stung with tears that he'd been holding in for three weeks. Once more, he fought them back, but it seemed to be failing.

 _Jason…_

Would the boy be mad at him? Had he been waiting and hoping that Batman would save him as he always did? How long before he died did he realize that this time was different? Was he disappointed? Would he have wanted Bruce to kill the Joker as he had originally wanted to, or would he be glad that Clark stopped him? Did he expect Bruce to try to bring him back from the grave, like Ollie or Clark or Hall had returned?

 _Jason…_

In his final moments, had he regretted becoming Robin? Did he decide that Bruce was _not_ his father? Bruce couldn't even save him! Fathers protected their sons, and Jason died on Bruce's watch. Did Jason realize this? Did he regret ever meeting Bruce? Did he wonder what would have happened to him if Bruce hadn't intervened in his life? What if Batman had taken the young thief to a juvenile detention center when he found him stealing his tires? Would Jason still be dead?

 _Jason…_

Had it hurt? Or at some point during the horrible beatings had the pain dulled and Jason slipped into numbness?

 _Jason…_

Bruce made his way towards the stairs now, still wearing his suit and holding the cowl in his fist. When had he clenched his fist? When had he started crying? Sobbing was a better word for it, in truth. Silent sobs that wracked his body and tightened his jaw and made his face hurt from trying to hold it all in.

He made his way down the hallway, up the stairs. So many times he'd approached this very door. To scold, praise, check in. So many times he'd knocked and known there would be an answer. Now, in this moment, he wanted to knock just to check and be certain that there wasn't an answer.

But he did not.

Standing there, in front of the darkened wood of the closed bedroom door, Bruce felt frozen. It would have taken unbelievable amounts of energy to lift his hand up and knock on the door to the room of a ghost, but it seemed that it was going to take more to actually open the door and go in.

Since his return from Ethiopia, Bruce had gone in Jason's room twice. He'd slept on his bed once, by mistake. And the other time he just stood in the center of his room, wondering where he'd gone wrong. But now, he was going to make it three times.

Alfred hadn't been in the room even once since Jason's death, and it showed. A light layer of dust had successfully covered everything in the room, the bed was unmade, the box of Jason's things from his mother's old apartment was still scattered about on the bed. It was dark, but moonlight streamed in the window enough to help Bruce see what he was doing. Jason's desk was covered in homework that hadn't been done, in poems that he'd written, music sheets for songs he loved, designs for the Robin suit that he'd been working on. The room still smelled like Jason, just a mustier version of the cologne Jason frequently used.

With trembling fingers, Bruce turned the lights in the room on. It felt colder to be in here, a sense of loneliness radiating off the walls as well as temperature wise. The room hadn't had any occupants in three weeks, and the air was chilled.

He made his way towards the desk and put all of the papers to the side before sitting down. The chair was too tall, and his legs couldn't fit under the desk without some adjusting. Hanging on the wall behind the desk were posters of theater performances, movies Jason liked, a couple of bands, and one of Jason's favorite of his paintings from art class. Bruce had only seen it a handful of times, and looking on it brought an onslaught of new guilt.

Opening one of the drawers, he pulled out a spiral notebook and a black ink pen. The notebook was mostly unused, three or four pages in the front scrawled with Jason's math notes. They were so thorough; Bruce was always amazed by how much Jason loved his schoolwork.

The pen hovered above the paper for a long time, Bruce trying to decide exactly how to say what he was feeling.

 _This is stupid,_ he thought. _No one will see this, why does it have to sound nice?_

And then he started writing.

 _ ************LINE BREAKER!************_

"I think it's drugs."

Jason pointed to the screen, his gloved finger touching a certain point on the map.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "We already looked into that and it was a dead end." They'd been working this case for three days. What had started out as a simple drug bust had become something that neither were quite prepared for. Thinking two heads were better than one, Red Hood and Batman teamed up.

And their results have been less than satisfactory.

Jason emphasized his pointing to the map. "Okay but infamous drug dealers, working in the drug dealing part of town?" Now he was crossing his arms, frustrated at both his mentor and the situation. "Just because they didn't have the drugs doesn't mean that's not what this is about."

Bruce nodded, putting his fingertips together as he thought. "You could be right," he said quietly. "But there's something missing, I can feel it."

Jason sighed. They'd been working on this problem for six hours straight, which was extensive even for Bruce. He picked up his helmet from where he'd placed it on the dash. "Okay, well I'm going to head home. Call me if you find something."

He made towards the exit of the cave, his helmet under his arm. Exhaustion pulled down on his body, slowing his movements. Nothing sounded better than a shower and some shut eye right now, not even solving this case.

"Just stay here," Bruce called to him. Jason froze, turning to look at his older counterpart.

He took a few steps back toward the computer, where Bruce was still staring at the monitor in thought. "You mean, in a guest room?"

Since his mysterious and miraculous return from the grave, Jason had been to the Manor only a handful of times. But never in the actual house part of the house, always below in the cave. Always with a purpose. A case or a meeting or following one of his makeshift siblings to grab something. Never had he been here more than twelve hours at a time, and certainly never stayed the night. He'd never been invited and he always assumed that his room was occupied nowadays.

But something about staying in a guest room in his old house seemed less than comfortable.

Bruce chuckled at Jason's confusion. "No, Jay," he said, turning in his chair to look at the boy. He was taller now, broader in the shoulders, but still had the same boyish features. Still the same son Bruce had raised. "In your room."

Jason wanted nothing more than to say a snarky comment to relieve the slight panic he was feeling, but in his current state of panic he just couldn't think of one. "I thought Damian was staying here again," he murmured.

Bruce's lips turned upwards in what Stephanie had started calling the 'Bat smirk'. "Yeah, he is," he said. "In his own room. You would be sleeping in your room."

Despite not particularly wanting to sleep in his old room, Jason had to admit that he was _excessively_ tired. And he had not valid reason to decline Bruce's offer. It would make thinks much easier for the case if he stayed here, at least for tonight. Jason already had a small armory here and he carried civilian clothes with him on his bike at all times.

"Yeah," he said. "Alright. I'll be in my room, I guess."

With that he turned to head up the stairs, but did not miss the way Bruce's smirk became a smile.

Everyone in the Manor had already gone to bed, just he and Bruce remained. Creeping through the halls silently felt strange. He hadn't been here in years, and suddenly he was in his freshman year of high school again, coming home from one of his first patrols and hitting the shower before bed. It was the kind of nostalgia that you didn't expect, and he wasn't sure he even wanted it.

The guest bathroom was stocked with an entire stack of towels, full bottles of every body part soap you could imagine, unopened toothbrushes, and a full tube of the best toothpaste you could find at a drug store. Just like he remembered. These supplies were so rarely used, Bruce mostly kept them in here for his girlfriends. On the rare occasion he had one that he liked enough to stay the night.

Of course, there's a bathroom in Jason's room. But Jason wasn't positive he enjoyed the nostalgia creeping in the back of his mind, and if anything would make it worse it would be the bathroom in his old bedroom.

No, he'd use the guest bathroom and avoid feeling too familiar, too at home.

He looked in the mirror at his costume, standing before the counter with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and the water running into the bathtub. Familiarity escaped him and confronted him at the same time as he stared at himself.

The red bat on his chest, the charred marks on the grey armor, the white streak in his hair. These things were familiar. These things he saw every day when he looked in the mirror.

The pristine white tile with intricate flower designs, the stack of plush towels, the double sink. These things were like new. Things he'd barely experienced before.

Part of him felt at home, but part of him wanted to go home.

Sighing, he spit the toothpaste out and peeled off the dirty suit. The hot water pouring out of the spout had begun fogging up the mirror, distorting his view of himself and disrupting his thoughts. Fatigue slowed his mind, but hurried his body. The thought of the slumber soon to come was enough to motivate him to keep his comforting shower short.

The warm water seemed to quell the sense of uncomfortable nostalgia within him. He even found a smile creeping onto his face as he stepped out of the shower and draped himself in a towel. This wasn't his first night staying here, it was just a slumber party. For a case.

Nothing special about that.

Wearing nothing but a towel, he walked through the halls back to his old room. When he opened the door, he wasn't certain what he'd expected. Maybe that Bruce had taken everything of his and thrown it out, if not after he died then most certainly after he tried to kill the entire family. He expected bland walls, bland comforter. Just another guest room in Wayne Manor.

But upon opening the door, Jason was caught completely off guard by what he saw.

The room was exactly how he left it. The bed was unmade, as if he'd just crawled out of it this morning. There were his text books from junior year, the homework still sticking out of the pages where he'd left it. His posters were completely untouched. His closet was still completely full of the clothes that he wore all those years ago. There was an empty glass on the nightstand that had at one point contained water. Half written thoughts, designs, poems, songs, notes and doodles littered the desk top. The only clean part of the desk was a spot in the middle, probably where Jason had been writing something and then grabbed the paper and left. There was a black ink pen laying there, Jason had used to refer to it as his 'absolute favorite pen' and 'Dick if you touch this pen I will use it to kill you'.

Shock overcame him, so much so that he dropped the towel without even realizing. He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. It was like stepping through time itself, back into his teenage years. The nostalgia he'd been avoiding had slapped him in the face.

He opened the top drawer on the dresser. His underwear was still there, neatly organized and folded just as he'd left it. Socks in a row next to the underwear, a few pairs of Robin gloves that he'd been working on without Bruce's permission. On the bed, sprawled across the comforter was the contents of the box that he'd gotten from his mother's neighbors all those years ago.

After pulling on a pair of boxers, Jason gathered all the papers and opened the top drawer on his nightstand. That's when he noticed something that _was_ different about his room. Something he _hadn't_ left there before he ran away to Ethiopia.

A pile of letters, stuck together by the will of a stretched rubber band. The one on top read _Jason_ in cursive writing, writing he'd only seen a handful of times. On school permission slips, adoption papers, birthday cards.

That was Bruce's handwriting.

Why was there such a stack of letters from Bruce in Jason's childhood nightstand?

Replacing the letters with Jason's mother's artifacts, he sat down on the bed. Water droplets hung from his hair as he hunched over the letters. All exhaustion gone from his body, replaced by curiosity. Should he read them? Or should he go ask Bruce what they are?

They're addressed to him, but the envelopes have no dates or addresses on them. Bruce hadn't intended to send them to him. Bruce didn't want anyone to see these letters, and if Jason confronted him about it he would stuff it under the already full rug.

No, he had to read these to get to the bottom of it.

In his hand was at least fifty letters that no one had likely ever read. Judging by the thick layers of dust covering the room, not even Alfred had been in here. His fingers were shaking slightly as he pulled the rubber band off the envelope and opened the first one.

It was written like an average letter, with a header and a date and then the content. Addressed to Jason. If Bruce had wanted to write Jason so much, why didn't he? He always knew where Jason was.

And then Jason looked – really looked – at the date on the letter.

 _May 20_ _th_ _, 1985_

This was right after he died. Bruce wrote these letters to his dead son, thinking that son would never come ack and read them after being re-gifted the gift of life. There was an infinite possibility of things that these letters could be, what they could say.

Jason hesitated. Should he be reading this? It would be a huge invasion of Bruce's privacy. Not to mention that Bruce and Jason _just_ buried the hatchet of Jason's death aftermath. It was finally behind them, and continuing on could only reopen a wound that Jason would rather be left closed.

But, Bruce left them in Jason's room, addressed to Jason. If they weren't meant to be read then he should've hid them better. If Jason didn't read these letters now, and Bruce remembered that they were up there after Jason left, he'd never get the chance again. And it would haunt him for the rest of his life, wondering what it was that Bruce needed to say so badly to him.

He had to read them.

 _ ************LINE BREAKER!************_

 _Jason,_

 _It's been three weeks since you died. It still doesn't feel real. You're_ _dead_ _, Jason. It's my fault. I won't ever forgive myself for letting you down in the way that I did, but eventually I'm sure I'll learn to carry it. Like I've carried everything else. That's what I keep telling myself. I'm not sure why I'm writing these letters to you. Like I said, you're dead. You won't ever get them._

 _Maybe it's just so I can make myself feel better. Get some things off my chest between us. Maybe it's because Alfred suggested it when my parents died, and pretending that they were reading my letters always got me through._

 _This is different though, Jason. You're not reading my letters. You can't, because I let my guard down and allowed you to fall victim to a psychotic maniac. I'm so sorry, Jason. I'm so sorry for what I've done to you, and how I've disappointed you. I know you are probably mad at me, and I know that I deserve it. But I would do_ _anything_ _to get you back, to not have to say these things._

 _I'm sitting at your desk right now, looking at all these poems and drawings you've created. You had such a beautiful, intelligent soul, Jason. You had so much promise. I wasted your talent on my crusade, and that was selfish of me. Had you been properly cared for you could've been such a great man. A better man than I could ever hope to be, but we'll never know now._

 _I'm sorry that I failed you son._

 _Love,_

 _Bruce_

 _ ************LINE BREAKER!************_

 _May 23, 1985_

 _Jason,_

 _When you died, I_ _Since you've passed, there's one thing I haven't been able to get out of my mind. I wonder every time I have time to wonder, what were you thinking about in the moments before death? When did you realize I wasn't going to come? Did you hate me for it? Did you despise what I'd done to you?_

 _I was just outside. I saw the explosion, I spoke with your mother. She told me what you'd done to save her. And after… I took you home. Buried you. It was the proper thing to do. But I swore that I would avenge you, that I would finally end the Joker. And I planned to. I was so close to him. So close to finishing it all._

 _But Clark stepped in. He told me he was obliged to stop me, to prevent me from breaking my one rule. And I knew that, as much as I wanted (still want) the Joker to be wiped clean off the face of the earth for all he's done, I couldn't be the one to do it. I don't know how you'd feel about that if you were still here, all I can hope is that you'd agree. You'd know I made the right call. That if I were to end the Joker, after all these years and everything he's done, it'll only prove him right._

 _Jason you're not here anymore, and every day it kills me. It fills me with this darkness, this hatred towards the world that I can't suppress. But I have to, I can't let myself cross that line, I_ –

 _ ************LINE BREAKER!************_

"What the hell is this?!" Jason fumed. He slapped the two letters he'd opened down on the keyboard in front of Bruce. The older man was slightly surprised by Jason's arrival; he'd gone off to bed an hour and a half ago and was presumed asleep.

Bruce looked down at the opened envelopes, reading them over. "Oh," he hummed. "I wrote these a long time ago, Jason." Jason's face was red with rage, tears streaming down his face. He was shaking with anger, his hair still damp wearing nothing but boxers. "I wanted to feel like you were still here," he tried to explain.

But Bruce knew the expression on Jason's face all too well. There was no reasoning with him. No explaining himself, or making the situation better. Jason was a hurricane and it was best to get out of his way.

"You wanted to feel like you didn't have to be guilty!" Jason barked. "You wanted to validate your own sense of morality!" Jason's arms were flailing now and he was pacing around Bruce's chair. He ran both of his hands through his hair, anger coming off him in waves. "These weren't real! There's nothing _honest_ in these letters, Bruce!"

Jason's chest hurt, as if someone had reached into it and was pushing out from the inside. His head hurt, trying to keep up with the way the room spun around him. The wound that had finally scabbed over was being ripped open, bigger than ever before.

"Take your pretentious coping mechanisms and shove it up your _**ass**_ , Bruce!" Jason roared, before he turned, bringing the letters with him. "I'm not your soldier, I'm not your pity party. Not anymore!" He stormed up the stairs. He never should've agreed to stay to begin with.

 _ ************LINE BREAKER!************_

It wasn't very often that Tim got a decent amount of sleep. His bed was an almost new mattress, only laid on every few days when Tim found the time to get some rest. This particular night happened to be one of those times.

Until blinding light awakened him to find Jason standing with his hand on the light switch, the window above his bed opened. "Jason?" Tim asked, attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"I'm glad you're up, Timmers," Jason said. "You want to hear some shit?" He was pacing now, his jacket flailing as he moved around the small room of Tim's apartment. Pausing his movements for a brief moment, he fished the stack of letters out from within his jacket and slapped them down on the bed. "Bruce wrote these stupid fucking letters after I died, right? Supposed to be some kind of coping mechanism, but they're full of lies, Tim. They're just him blabbering about how I'm such a failure."

Tim sighed, sitting up. "Jason, how do you know where I live?" He was losing hope for the possibility of going back to sleep. "And how did you surpass security and get in the window?"

Ignoring him, Jason continued his colorful rant. "Like all I am to him is a dead son. Like I'm no good to him now that I've come back. I'm not a warning anymore I'm just the wayward son that Bruce can't fix." He had slowed to a stop now, his tone less angry. "Just another of Bruce Wayne's failures, nothing more." Suddenly, Jason was standing still in the middle of Tim's room, not facing him but instead looking down, a hand towards his face. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm here."

He moved to climb back out the window he entered through, leaving the envelopes there on Tim's bed.

Sighing, Tim reached out a hand towards Jason's fleeing form. "Jason wait," Tim said. Irritation was clear in his voice, not likely to make Jason change his mind about staying. The zombie Robin stopped, however, and waiting for Tim's next words. "I'm up for the day, just let me make some coffee and we'll deal with your daddy issues okay?"

Jason turned, bloodshot eyes and a smirk lighting his saddened face. "Only if you tell me about yours too, Timmers," he said, sarcasm shining through a despair covered tone.

Thirty minutes later, Jason and Time were sitting on the balcony of Tim's apartment, drinking freshly brewed coffee and watching the sun rise while Tim read the letters. Jason was shaking with exhaustion and frustration, impatiently waiting for Tim to finish. He'd insisted on reading every one rather than the one and a half that Jason had read.

"I don't see why you're upset, Jay," Tim said. Jason turned to look at him, anger boiling beneath the surface. "No, let me rephrase. I see why you're upset, but that doesn't make it valid."

Anger replaced by confusion, Jason raised his eyebrows. "How? All those are is letters of Bruce's self-righteous lies," Jason spat.

Tim hummed, sipping his coffee. "I don't think so," he said, lowering the glass. "I think Bruce was definitely being a self-righteous ass, but I don't think it was intentional." A breeze kicked up, chilling both boys. Jason wrapped his fingers tighter around his coffee, sucking up all its warmth. "He was grieving, Jay. He's not good at opening up, I think this was just his way of not letting the grief kill him." Jason processed this for a moment, angry that Tim was taking away his reason to be angry. "Come on, Jason, it's not like you've never done something incredibly stupid to deal with your problems."

For the second time that night, Jason wanted to say something sarcastic and witty but couldn't Tim had been the victim of Jason's ridiculous coping mechanisms, and claiming anything to the contrary seemed foolish. "Shut up," he murmured.

Tim laughed, taking a long gulp of his coffee.

On a normal day, Jason would steer clear of the drink. But he was tired and Tim made him a cup before he could say no and if he was being honest it didn't taste god awful when Tim made it. He fancied himself a cappuccino kinda guy, or carbonated energy drinks. Never a coffee drinker though. When he was in high school, he and Alfred used to make fancy French coffee before school every day.

"It was stupid, but it was 1985. Everything from the 80's was stupid, remember?" Tim probed, gesturing towards Jason with his mug.

Jason laughed now, chugging the rest and getting up. "I hate it when you're right, Timmers," he said.

"Where are you off to?" Tim asked.

"You shouldn't question your elders, Tim-bo."

"You're not technically older than me," Tim said. "If you subtract the years that you were not alive, that is."

Jason stuck his tongue out at his younger brother. "I guess I'm going back to the Manor, to apologize or whatever."

 _ ************LINE BREAKER!************_

"Master Bruce?" Alfred called into the kitchen. It was the early hours of noon at Wayne Manor, and Bruce was eating his lunch with Damian. "I thought you told me that Jason did not end up staying last night?"

Bruce looked up from his sandwich, confused. "He didn't, he stormed off. Why?"

"His motorcycle is in the driveway, sir."

Confusion knitting his brow, Bruce stood from the table. "Father," Damian said, grilled cheese passing through his fingertips to Titus. "If someone as simple as Todd can get past you then perhaps it is time to retire."

Ignoring his newest sidekick, Bruce made his way through the foyer and up the stairs. He stood before the darkened wood of the door, hesitating before turning the knob. Upon opening the door, Bruce was surprised to see his shirtless son dead asleep in a bed that was almost too small for his adult figure. The letters Bruce had written were on the nightstand, all had been opened now.

Jason's snores were loud enough that Bruce should've heard them before he even opened the door. Bruce smiled fondly, before shutting the door to let his son get some sleep.


	3. Undercover

"Jason?"

The man in question lowered his sunglasses, exposing his single raised eyebrow and the mischievous glint in his aqua tinted eyes. He looked incredibly sexy standing there, smug grin on his face wearing a white blazer over a white button up shirt. His fingers held the edge of his sunglasses precariously on the bridge of his nose, just low enough that he could see her over them. "Yes, darling?" he said, voice low. The receptionist over the counter gave them a smile before going back to the computer.

Barbara smiled sweetly, pushing her own sunglasses to the top of her head. "Get. Your. Hand. Off. My. Ass." She spoke through gritted teeth, holding the sweet smile as she did. The receptionist looked up once more, suppressing his laughter. He bent away from them, grabbing something from below the counter behind him.

Jason leaned in towards her. "I'm just playing my part, Barbie," he whispered. "No one's going to buy the newlyweds act if we aren't disgustingly in love."

Despite the slight conceivable truth in his words, she reached back and swatted his hand away from her ass. "Well, _babe_ ," She said, emphasizing the word. It felt foreign in her mouth, calling Jason a nickname that wasn't derogatory. "You're overplaying."

He smirked once more, laughing and surrendering his hands up. "Alright, alright, sorry, Babs."

The receptionist looked back up at them, grinning and handing them two keycards and sliding a piece of paper across the marbled countertop. "You guys are hilarious," he said, passing a pen to Jason. "By far the best customers I've had all morning."

Barbara snatched the paper out from beneath Jason's hands and held it up to her eyes. "Holy shit," she said. "Why is the honeymoon suite this expensive?!"

"It's fine," Jason mumbled, pulling a black card out of his wallet and holding it out for the receptionist. "Just run it."

Barbara's jaw dropped, watching as the receptionist took the card. "Jay, please tell me you didn't steal Bruce's premium black card," she said quietly, her tone one of disbelief.

Again, he grinned at her. "What?" he said, pushing his sunglasses to rest above his hairline. The receptionist came back with a receipt, which Jason signed, ignoring Barbara's continued stunned staring. He thanked the receptionist, took the card back, grabbed the keycards, and swooped Barbara under his arm as he pushed her towards the elevator. "Bruce said it was for emergencies, and we're on this stupid mission as a favor to him, so he can pay for it."

As much as she contested it, Jason was right. Bruce set up this mission, he paired the two of them together, and now he had reserved the most expensive suite and given them no way to pay for it. It was a form of Karma that Jason had stolen his card, and some form of miracle.

She could only imagine how difficult it was to steal from Bruce, quite possibly _the_ most paranoid human being on the planet.

"So, what you're saying," she said, eyeing him from beneath his arm as they approached the elevator. "Is that we should get room service?"

Was it right to take Bruce's money? Of course, not. Had Barbara taken Bruce's things before without asking? Of course. The most memorable time would be the third time she took the Batmobile, after Dick had been bragging that no one could do as many donuts as he could without flipping it over. She definitely beat his record, but not without consequences.

This was different, however. This was for a mission. Bruce Wayne had gathered intel that a nuclear weapon had been smuggled into London by a radical terrorist known only by the alias _The Brazilian_. The Batman had done all the legwork he could for the mission, but Bruce Wayne was needed for the World Summit this weekend, Dick was busy dealing with the Joker – who had escaped Arkham once again. Jason was sent on the mission because being near the Joker was a can of worms Bruce wasn't ready to open again. Barbara was sent on the mission because Jason would most likely need backup.

Not to mention that Jason was among her favorite teammates to travel with.

Staring at the way he chewed his lower lip absentmindedly in the elevator, Barbara could think of a few reasons why.

 _ ************LINE BREAKER!************_

"Can you please take this seriously?" Barbara whined, sitting on the bed looking through the file on the Brazilian on her laptop.

Jason was laying leisurely in the jacuzzi, one arm behind his head and one holding a glass of wine. "I'm relaxin', nerd," he muttered. He couldn't see Barbara through his closed eyes, but he could imagine the way she would roll her eyes at him. Jason had never been so glad that he had stolen something from his former mentor. As the hot water lapped at his chest, bubbling and soothing his skin, Jason hadn't felt so relaxed in so long. "You're welcome to join me."

Eyes now opened, Jason looked over the rim of his wine glass at her. She was, in fact, rolling her eyes at him. "Getting drunk and taking a bath isn't going to stop this nuclear arms deal," she said. Her tone was snippy, but a snarky inflection underneath it. "Knowing what we're walking into is."

"I do know what we're walking into," Jason said, pointing at her with his glass-holding hand. "A nuclear arm deal."

Again, Barbara rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, but we're also supposed to capture the Brazilian, but we don't know who that is, so we have to figure it out before we walk in there and let him escape." She turned her laptop screen to face him, showing nothing but screens of files. "Bruce didn't give us anything to go on except the alias."

Jason leaned his head back, his white bangs falling back against his forehead. "I don't need to study to do that either, Barbie," he muttered, the sound of his glass clinking as he set it down and stretched his arms horizontally along the rim of the jacuzzi. "It'll be easy, you hack into the hotel security, find which room the buyers are staying in, we'll set up surveillance in there and then I'll catch the Brazilian while you get the buyers. I've done harder missions in my sleep," Jason mumbled, waving his arms around above his head as he spoke.

Without looking, he could tell she was shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose. "It it's so easy why don't _you_ hack into the hotel's system?" she muttered under her breath, so quickly and quietly that Jason could hardly hear her.

Smirking and raising a single eyebrow, Jason raised his head up to look at her. "What was that?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, smirking back. "You take your bubble bath, I'll work on the mission, and I'll tell Bruce who put in the most effort."

Jason smiled again, the rumbling in his chest moving the water and sending ripples through the already bubbly waves. "Barbara Gordon, are you so naïve to think that threatening me with Bruce is going to scare me?" he pushed himself off the wall of the jacuzzi, moving across the small circular pool to get closer to her on the bed. He saw the way her eyes lit up when she looked at him, and could only imagine that his eyes lit up in the same way. "Especially when you're still welcome to join me?" When his eyebrows danced up and down, Barbara giggled, a hand flying to her lips to conceal her laughter.

"No," she said, regaining her composure other than the sly grin on her features. "Because," her voice was loud and harsh now, an attempt to cut off the words that were inevitably about to come out of his now-open mouth. "First of all, I'm busy. Second of all, I'm pretty sure you're naked in there."

"Oh so _**now**_ nudity is a problem for you," he said, faux mockingly.

She threw a pen at him, hitting him in the eyebrow. "Shut up," she said, scowling at him. "Your brother is pissed that I'm even here."

Now rubbing his eyebrow, Jason scowled back at her. "Oh, tell Dick to get his panties untwisted," he muttered, grabbing a towel and standing. Water fell off his body – which may or may not have been clothed – and loudly crashed back into the jacuzzi, splashing out of the pool and spilling onto the floor. "What's his problem this time?"

Using the towel, he began rubbing himself off. The fabric felt rough against his skin, scraping and drying it until it felt raw to the touch. As he stepped fully out of the tub, he wrapped the towel around his waist and approached the bed to look at Barbara's screen. She looked at him over the rim of her glasses, sighing before turning the computer to face him once more.

"Probably a mixture of 'you slept with my brother' and 'my brother is a serial killer'," she mumbled, staring intently at the screen.

Jason was taken aback, looking at her in disbelief and frustration. "I am _not_ a serial killer!" He shouted. "At worst I'm a cute and charming anit-hero." Barbara chuckled to herself, lips turning upwards in something that could almost be called a smile. "Besides, I'm straight edge now. I promised daddy bats."

"Don't defend yourself to me, Perve Wonder," Barbara said, turning the screen away from him so she could get back to work. "I would appreciate it if you put on some pants though. They buy is going down in 3 hours and we've gotta prepare."

"Yeah, yeah," Jason mumbled, grabbing his boxer briefs and walking towards the bathroom. "You're not my mother, Babs," he called over his shoulder, shutting the door behind him. After pulling his underwear up and hanging his towel back on the rack, he stopped to admire himself in the mirror. His wet skin gleamed under the bathroom lights, water droplets slowly crawling down his body towards the floor. Hair, dampened by the jacuzzi, held other small water droplets, barely clinging to the strands there.

Briefly, he considered how smooth his skin was. It hadn't always been that smooth, once marred by scars and imperfections. After being dipped in the Lazarus pit, the wounds from his previous life had been wiped away, his body becoming a perfect clean slate.

Of course, he'd developed other scars since his unexpected crash to the realm of the living. Many of which were in the shoulders, but a few crooked lines of tissue were formed lower down his abdomen, around his sides. Even a few peaked out from beneath his boxer briefs. He remembered each scar, remembered the pain he felt when they'd been created.

Sometimes, even now, he didn't recognize himself in the mirror. He questioned the functionality of his orphans, wondered why he had been brought back at all. Jason Todd shouldn't work, shouldn't be alive.

But alas, here he was. Alive and well and working a case.

He stumbled out into the main room of their suit, where Barbara had already begun changing into her night time attire. She wore the armored pants of her Batgirl suit and her bra, standing over the dresser of the suit prepping the necessary gadgets for the mission.

"Oh my god, Barbie," Jason said, holding up his own Red Hood pants. "Why don't you cover yourself up, show some decency."

Barbara turned to look at him, mouth slightly agape in annoyance. "Jason you're in your underwear."

As she spoke, he stepped one leg into his pants. Then raised an index finger in her direction, an attempt to stop her point before she completed it. "I have half of my pants on," he pointed out, lifting one leg in an effort to put it in the pants one-handed.

"Which is still less than me," She pointed out.

"No one slut shames boys, though, Babs."

Barbara huffed, parts of her angered by his words, and parts of her finding humor in them. "Get dressed, Perve Wonder. We're on a schedule." She picked up his shirt and threw it at him, knocking his balance off so much so that he fell onto his bottom, legs sticking up in the air and pants hanging off of them.

The two of them laughed together, before getting dressed and setting about their mission.

Scaling the side of the skyscraper in which their hotel was located. Jason opted out of the helmet tonight, sticking with just a red domino mask instead. The helmet seemed unnecessary when it was unlikely they'd be seen at all. He had begun to regret that decision as soon as his face hit the chilly air that was 500 feet up in the atmosphere. Freezing air that his helmet would've protected him from.

The buyers were staying in a room 4 floors beneath Jason and Barbara's honeymoon suite. Barbara had been watching the security cameras, waiting for the opportunity to sneak in and set up the appropriate surveillance. They strapped their grappling guns to their utility belts and slowly scaled down to the sixteenth floor, peering in the window just to be sure the room was empty.

Jason was hard at work on the lock of the window. He considered himself a lock picking master, but these were relatively difficult locks. This particular hotel was owned by Oliver Queen, and the security was very high. But Jason believed that, given enough time, he could crack it. Wayne security was the best on the market, and he had very little problem figuring those out these days.

It helped that he was there when they were made, and he'd been practicing on them for years.

But why bother with the specifics.

"You could take a little longer," Barbara shouted, hanging a foot or so to his left. The wind was raging in his ears, and he found himself wishing he'd worn the helmet rather than just the domino mask.

Smiling at her over his shoulder, the lock finally cracked. "I could, but we're on a schedule." Batgirl rolled her eyes, the corners of her cheeks turning up despite what was most likely her best efforts. "Can't you _please_ take this seriously, Barbie?"

Releasing a small chuckle, Jason pushed open the window and climbed in, followed shortly by Batgirl. The buyers' room wasn't nearly as extravagant as the honeymoon suite – thanks to Bruce and his fancy credit card. There were two queen beds, a vanity with a sink built in, and two doors – a bathroom and a closet. Nothing luxurious, nothing gaudy. Just an average hotel room.

Barbara had already set to work setting up the surveillance. They had 4 cameras, two microphones, one thermal detector, and one Geiger counter. These would be set up discreetly throughout the room. Jason approached her as she emptied her bag out onto one of the beds. "What do you want me to do?"

She handed him the microphones, as well as cords. "Hook it up, duh," she said. Rolling his eyes, Jason set to work bugging the hotel room. There was one mic on each side of the room, ensuring that they'd be able to hear conversations from any angle in the room. Barbara hooked up cameras in each corner, positioned so that the entirety of the room was visible from their own room. Jason replaced the smoke detector with the thermal detector.

They were hurriedly packing up their items when they heard the door knob turning. The front door was around the corner from the main room where the vigilante duo was located, only a short hallway away.

Barbara looked at him, wide eyes struck with panic. Grabbing the Geiger counter, Jason took two lunging steps towards the window, shortly followed by Batgirl. The pane was still cocked open, making it easy and fast for them to escape.

His fingers wrapped around the line, shaking while they attached the carabiner. Batgirl was less than a second behind him and she pulled the window closed as she leaped through. Jason suctioned the Geiger counter to the window sill, hidden from the sight of the window. Peeking up above the device, he could see the group of men crowding into the room, seemingly unaware. "I think we're safe, Barbie," Jason whispered through his grin.

Heart pounding in his ears, adrenaline coursing through his veins, Jason was shaking with silent laughter, hanging 460 feet above the ground below. Even he knew that it was a miracle they'd made it out unseen.

Barbara would be the first to point that out. She was behind on her usual rate of .02 seconds of pointing out when Jason could've messed up. "Barbie?"

Glancing over his shoulder, he realized she wasn't next to him as she should've been. It was then that he heard her scream.

Without thinking, Jason released himself from his line, free falling downward. In mid-air he flipped his body around, tucking in his arms and poising himself. Batgirl was only a second ahead of him, at most. From this distance, the wide eyes and panic on her face was obvious. "Barbara!" he shouted, positioning himself like a bullet.

Barbara was smarter than this. She wouldn't just fall. The fall from their position was about five seconds long, the first thing she'd do would be to slow herself down as much as possible. They were about 100 feet apart, and Jason could only close the distance so much on his own.

 _Come on, Barbie, use the cape!_

"Jason!" She screamed. They'd been falling for three seconds and were well over half way down the sky scraper. He was closing in but he'd never make it in time without her help.

Her fingertips grasped the outermost edges of her cape, holding it out as wide as her arms would allow. Almost immediately, Barbara's speed decreased.

 _Yes!_

"Reach up! I'll grab you!" He yelled.

The fear was evident in her face, her lips pursed together and eyebrows knit. If Jason could move himself through sheer force of will he would catch her.

Fear gripped his heart. He'd never felt more helpless before, not even when he'd watched the seconds tick away his own life. That had been _his_ life. It was different This was _Barbara_. "Barbara!" He cried, anger taking hold of him and seeping into his voice. "Barbara Gordon, you grab my hand right now!" His hand was reaching towards her now, only a foot away.

They'd been falling for four seconds but it felt like hours. The ground was approaching faster than Jason would appreciate. They had to be moving at over 50 miles per hour at this point.

Trembling fingers shot out and grabbed his outstretched hand, just as quickly as Jason shot his grappling gun back at the line he'd been hanging from just seconds before. With his free hand he pulled Barbara into his chest, where she wrapped her arms around his waist and tightened her grip.

With Barbara's face buried in his chest, the grappling hook yanked painfully on his shoulder, retracting the pair to safety. They'd been mere feet off the ground, less than a second before splattering to their death on the sidewalk. He wrapped his free arm around Batgirl, holding her tight as they moved upward as quickly as the motor could carry them.

"It's okay, Barbara," he whispered. His lips were pressed against her scalp, holding her close. "I've got you."


	4. Rules and Conditions

It was a rare occasion that any group of the Batfamily could be together for any activity other than vigilantism. The occasional birthday, the basic holidays, and other special events were a given. But normally celebrations were held off until after patrol. But when more than two were free at a time, they made it a point to spend time together.

Such was the circumstances on this particular night. Barbara, Stephanie, and Tim were hanging around the Manor. Tim had managed to 'sneak' a bottle of wine from his parents and they were drinking in the kitchen, catching up.

Tim was not the usual Batboy to be invited to girls' night – usually it was Jason because he had a knack for painting nails and braiding hair, and he was among the sassiest of the bunch – but his presence was a welcome one. He brought the wine, after all. The room was full of laughter, the warm sounds floating through the almost empty mansion.

"Changing everyone's name in the group chat doesn't make you the leader of the group chat," he argued, waving his half empty wine glass towards Barbara.

With a smirk on her face, she held her own glass up to her lips. "That's what you think, Ass Butt," she said as she knocked back the remainder in the glass and reached for the bottle, searching for a refill. "You get to name the actual chat, I don't see why you're complaining."

Stephanie, who was sitting on the barstool with her feet on the bar, suddenly lurched forward, pointing an accusatory finger at Barbara. " _You_ ," she said, her voice loud and coated with alcohol. "You always give us weird, insulting nicknames." Her wine glass had long since been empty, and she had been refused a refill, much to her own chagrin. "Timmy names the chat funny stuff."

"You love your nickname!" Barbara shouted, now also leaning forward.

"You made me sound like a whore!" Stephanie shouted back.

"A righteous whore!"

"Dick Saint is not a good nickname!"

"Guys!" Tim shouted. "None of the nicknames are good," he was laughing, despite his friends' screaming match. "Stephanie's is by far the funniest though."

Barbara leaned back in her chair, smiling triumphantly. "At least Timmers can appreciate comedy."

Stephanie crossed her arms, scoffing in annoyance. "It's not even fair," she murmured. "You don't have a nickname."

Shrugging, Barbara sipped her wine once more. "I can't give myself a nickname," she said simply. "That's cheating."

Nodding, Tim finished off his glass as well. "She's right," he said, waving a finger towards Barbara. "As fellow members of The Council, we have to come up with her nickname." He leaned on his elbows and set his wine down, the glass gently clinking against the marble of the countertop. Cupping his chin thoughtfully, he and Stephanie began to study Barbara carefully.

With all these pairs of eyes on her, Barbara couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. She plastered a smirk on her face and continued sipping her wine before leaning forward and staring Tim back, right in the eyes.

"Fox," he said slowly, as if he was tasting the syllables to make sure it was right.

Furrowing her eyebrows together, Barbara looked shocked. "Why would you call me fox?" she asked quizzically.

"Well," Tim said. "Because you're sneaky, and you have red hair." He sat back, looking almost satisfied. He was grasping at straws and everyone in that room knew it.

Barbara, puzzled, looked at him with her smirking mouth hanging open. "Tim, that's not-"

Suddenly the doors from the kitchen to the foyer burst open, loudly slamming against the walls behind them. Through them strode the large, angry form of Dick Grayson. He pointed an accusatory finger at Barbara and shouted, "I was _not_ getting dick!" His brows were furrowed in a Batman worthy scowl, hands on his hips, no more than two feet away from where Barbara sat. "And she almost saw that text!"

After a moment to process, it finally dawned on Barbara what Dick was so angry about. She laughed, standing from her chair and setting her glass down. "Seems fake," she said, crossing her arms threateningly.

"She's gonna have to get used to it," Stephanie mumbled, head leaned back and staring at the ceiling.

Barbara and Tim both nodded in agreement. "Anyone you date has to meet and deal with all of us," she said. "This sacred Bat bond doesn't come without conditions."

Stephanie sat up, a lopsided grin on her face. "The group chat, too," she said. Resting her elbows on the countertop and her chin in her hands, she looked as if she was day dreaming rather than drunk. "Do you have any idea how many times my dates have seen the texts cheering us on in bed? Or something equally gross of that nature?"

Laughing, Barbara looked at Stephanie. "On my date last night, Jason FaceTimed me to ask me about the date I was currently on."

The whole group burst into laughter, imagining how _that_ phone call went. Stephanie hardened her drunken resolve. "You don't just date one of us," she declared, standing up and approaching Barbara. She mimicked her pose, crossing her arms and widening her stance. "You date _all_ of us."

Dick's face had relaxed now. "I wasn't given the Terms and Service agreement before I joined the group chat," he said.

"Barb, you were supposed to give him the non-disclosure agreement," Tim mumbled. His wine glass had once again emptied itself somehow, and Tim was reaching for another refill, as well as a fourth glass for his older brother. The redhead shrugged off the responsibility whilst drinking the remainder of her own glass. "We were just discussing possible nicknames for Barbara." He passed the glass over to Dick and sat back down, as did the rest of the group.

Confusion spread on his face as he sipped the wine. "I just call her Fern," he said nonchalantly.

Silence rested in the room for a few moments, inviting Dick to explain his statement despite it seemingly never coming. "You gonna elaborate on that, Boy Wonder?" Barbara said, also confused about her nickname.

Finishing the longest sip of win in the history of beverages, Dick lowered his glass and wiped his lips with his thumb. "You remember like two years ago when I was calling everyone 'fren'? Ya know, like the memes?" He had a Grayson grin on his lips as he watched the memories flood back to his friends. "Well, one time I tried to type 'fren' and it autocorrected to 'fern' and so I changed you contact name and never changed it back."

Barbara's mouth hung open in surprise. "You've had my name as Fern in your phone for two years and you never told anyone?"

"No," Dick said, drinking more wine and shaking his head. "Jason knows."

Rolling her eyes, Barbara mumbled, "Of course Jason knows," before she sipped more of her own wine. "That's ridiculous, Dick. A ridiculous nickname."

"Ha! Who died and made you the Nickname Queen?" Dick retorted. Knocking his head back, he finished off his first glass of wine and smiled at Barbara. "Besides, I will give you $200 right now if you have my name as Dick Grayson in your cell phone."

She could feel the flush on her cheeks, grinning at her best friend. "I don't have to prove anything to you," she said chugging her wine.

Stephanie suddenly burst into silent laughter. "What's Dick's name?!" She exclaimed. "Show us what his name is!"

"Maybe someday, Dick Saint."


	5. Toothbrush

"I just need to grab a few new things," Jason called. "You guys should stock up while you're here, too!" He removed his dusty leather jacket, discarding it in a pile of other filthy leather jackets. Next came the empty utility belt, then the soaking boots. It was just passed 3 AM and he'd already been in one high speed chase, an explosion, and the sewers. His uniform was toast, and his work was only half complete for the night.

A loud _thud_ came from the living room where he'd left his team mates, followed by a sharp slap. Jason's lips curled up in a small smile when Roy's "Ow" could be heard.

"Jaybird," Roy called. His voice was needlessly loud for Jason's small apartment, and Jason was beginning to understand why his neighbors hated him. "I need to empty the tank, can you grab me a few arrows and we'll head out?"

Rolling his eyes, Jason didn't bother responding while he refilled his own supplies, as he heard the bathroom door close before he got the chance. Smoke pellets, flash bangs, extra ammo, throwing knives. Jason's compartments were all empty.

After filling his belt once more and replacing it on his waist, he opened his closet and grabbed another jacket, as well as another pair of boots. If he paid taxes, he'd be furious with how often he had to replace his wardrobe.

He grabbed his bag of spare arrows for his dimwitted best friend, and rushed back out to the living room, where Kori waited patiently for her teammates. "Are you ready? We shouldn't stay much longer." Her hair illuminated the entire room in a warm glow, light the brightest candle money could buy. Her orange skin was tainted with soot here and there, but she was still a beacon of beauty.

How she ended up with a dork like Roy, Jason would never understand.

"Yeah, I hear ya," he mumbled. Shifting his gaze quickly back to the bathroom door. "As soon as Roy shakes it off-"

Suddenly the door burst open and Roy leaped out, holding something small and white in his fist. He bound the short distance to Jason and moved his face to be uncomfortably close to Jason's. The whites of his mask narrowed, mere inches from his best friend's. Slowly, he backed up a few centimeters and moved the object in his fist in between their eyes. "What's this?"

Jason's eyes focused in on the small object. "Well, Roy," he said, irritation in his voice. "Looks like a toothbrush. I'm not surprised you don't know what that is, but it's not too late to learn I suppose." The toothbrush was white, with pink grips running along the white handle. The bristles were old and worn, little pink rubbers in between them. "Most people use it two to three times a day, they're supposed to keep your teeth clean and your breath tolerable. Look into it."

Behind the red domino mask, Roy was most probably rolling his eyes. Without acknowledging Jason's comments, he shook the toothbrush and continued to inspect it. "But it's not _your_ toothbrush, is my point, _Todd_." The accusing way he accentuated Jason's last name was almost offensive.

Almost.

"Roy, if you don't know what a toothbrush is, how would you know which one is mine?" He swiped the toothbrush out of Roy's hands and headed to the bathroom.

"We lived together!" Roy shouted after him, again, unnecessarily loud. "And why would you have a red toothbrush and pink toothbrush right next to each other?"

"I have one for night and day."

"Don't bullshit me, Todd."

"Well," Jason shrugged, exiting the bathroom again. "Why else would I have two toothbrushes?"

Roy grinned, and Jason was thankful for the hood to conceal the look of murder in his eyes. "I have a theory," he started.

Jason sighed. "Oh, here we g-"

"THERE'S A GIRL!" He shouted, raising one pointer finger triumphantly, the other hand resting on his hip. He bent forward at the waist, carrying his weight on his toes and precariously balancing there. "Or boy. We don't judge, do we Kori?"

The alien princess in question smiled, nodding. "Of course, not Jason," she said. "We will love you no matter what."

Exasperated, Jason sighed. "Oh my god," he said, stomping over to the window. "There is no boy, there is no girl, it's my toothbrush, let's go." By the time he finished talking, he had already made it half way out the window. Despite the obvious disbelief held by his teammates, they followed to finish the job of the evening without another word.

 _ ************LINE BREKAER!************_

Movie night was a bust.

It always had been. Tim had been saying it since it was proposed. They all got together, argued for an hour at least about what movie to watch, and ended up drunk with the TV on but no movie playing.

Every time.

But still on the 13th of every month, everyone available gathered at Wayne Manor and the event took place. This time, 'everyone available' included: Dick, Barbara, Steph, Tim, Bruce, Jason, and the Outlaws. As per usual, Bruce sat in his chair, sipping on a ginger ale and watching his children drink. Every now and then he would smile fondly as they chattered, chuckling silently with the glass to his lips. Tim watched him sometimes, when something particularly scandalous was said. Just to gauge his reactions.

Tim was watching everyone. The last time he had participated in the drinking portion of the night, he body slammed Jason into the China cabinet and then threw up.

Not pretty.

Everyone else, however, had a drink in front of them, gathered around the coffee table. Tim sat at one end of the table, to his left was Jason, then Stephanie, Roy, Kori, Dick, and Barbara. They all came in their pajamas, as one would for a slumber party. They were shouting and laughing, filling the room with stories and gossip that they may have missed. It wasn't often everyone tried to get together.

"It fell, like, twenty stories," Barbara said. Her red hair was tied up in a messy bun and she had a wine glass in her hand, swirling the dark red liquid around and watching, mesmerized.

"So that's why Dick hasn't been texting the group chat?" Jason laughed. He was three drinks in, and his arms had begun swinging a while ago. He had that same goofy, smug grin on his face and his voice was significantly louder than his normal volume – which wasn't exactly quiet to begin with. "Cell phones aren't that slippery, Dickie."

Dick, who sat across from him and was one drink in but the same level of tipsy that Jason was, giggled and fumed at the same time. "You weren't there, Jay," he said, his face turning red and his eyebrows pressed together. "You didn't see the extreme circumstances."

"You were trying to make a Vine while grappling," Tim chimed in. He'd been just below Dick, and the phone almost hit him in the face. It was traumatizing.

"I don't see why you guys think that's so funny," Dick mumbled to himself, crossing his arms in irritation.

"Didn't Vine shut down like a month ago?" Stephanie asked.

"Shut up, Steph!" Dick shouted. She laughed triumphantly, pointing at her fellow vigilante in victory. "This is why Bruce fired you as Robin."

The laughter slid off her face, replaced by shock and then anger. She humphed quietly before taking another sip of her drink. Tim smiled at his girlfriend, knowing the look all too well. She would make the same expression at him when he proved her wrong in an argument. "That's okay, babe," he said, reaching his hand across the corner of the table and squeezing her shoulder. "At least you never wore the Disco-Wing suit."

"That suit was a god send," Barbara laughed. "But don't forget about the ponytail, because that was equally fantastic."

" **FUCK OFF, BABS!** " Dick shouted, chucking a pillow at his younger brother. "Besides, aren't we here to catch up? Not relive the horrors of the past?"

Bruce chuckled, likely remembering his eldest son's horrible fashion choices. "Dick is right," he said, his voice deep and exhausted. Yet, even riddled with fatigue, Bruce's bellowing voice effectively silenced all his children's giggles. "What's new with you guys? We haven't seen Roy and Kori in a while."

Everyone's attention was drawn to the two new redheads of the group (although with the way Kori glowed, it was hard to avert your attention). Tim glanced at Jason, who had a look of murder on his face.

"We were in town, for a minute," Roy shrugged. Green eyes flitted across the room to meet aqua ones, a mischievous glint meeting an angry one. "And I did see something interesting at Jaybird's apartment…"

Everyone leaned forward. Tim looked around the table, watching and observing. Jason looked pointedly at Roy, his mouth forming the word, "Don't". The archer in question put his hands behind his head, leaning back and smiling.

"You gonna tell us what it was or not?" Stephanie asked, pointing a shaky finger at him.

"He got a girl's toothbrush in his bathroom."

The room suddenly exploded in uproarious laughter, questions, and expressions of shock. Even Bruce's eyebrows were raised in surprise, though not enough to imply he was completely shocked (not to say Bruce ever showed when he was _truly_ shocked, but that's beside the point).

Tim himself had long suspected Jason of seeing someone, but he'd always assumed it was Roy and Kori. The trio spent an exorbitant amount of time together, it was common knowledge that Kori and Roy at the very least were sleeping together. Tim had personally seen them all three fall asleep cuddling on the couch on at least five different occasions. And if he was being honest, the three of them would be so cute together.

But Roy ruined that idea.

Typical.

"How many times do I have to tell you there isn't a girl?" Jason shouted.

"I bet it's a boy," Dick said. "We've always suspected, just been waiting for him to admit it."

"Dick I swear-"

"We've already assured him that we would love him, no matter who brushes their teeth in his bathroom." Kori's voice was faint and delicate, but still powerful. Tim had heard her speak too many times to count, but her voice always surprised him. "He assures us it doesn't belong to a boy."

"Jury's still out though," Roy mumbled.

"Who is it then?" Steph asked.

Dick slammed his empty glass down on the coffee table, smiling as he gulped down the last of his drink. "It's _**you!**_ " He pointed an accusatory finger at Stephanie, his eye lids drooping drunkenly.

Tim smirked, watching his girlfriend process this allegation. He could see on her face as she went through all five stages of grief before shouting, "NO! Grayson, _what_ are you drinking?"

Everyone was shouting, shooting ideas between each other about who Jason had kept a secret. Tim's eyes sought out Jason's, but they were focused elsewhere. He followed his predecessor's gaze into a certain teammate.

Pieces came together in Tim's mind as he turned his gaze back to Jason. "Guys," he said quietly, staring in disbelief at his older brother. The shouting in the room continued, but Jason turned to look at him. His eyes looked like they could kill him, his face turning a peculiar shade of red. It was Jason's warning look, and briefly Tim wondered if he was prepared to accept the consequences of his actions. "Guys!" he shouted, but just as everyone silenced to look at the young bird, he felt a fist roughly impact the side of his jaw and then everything was black.

 _ ************LINE BREAKER!************_

Jason's old bedroom was exactly how he'd left it. Even when he'd come back to life and seen it for the first time, he hadn't changed anything. It was like a time capsule. Every time he stayed the night, he felt like he was travelling back to his early teenage years.

Roy and Kori had passed out together on the couch downstairs, and Bruce demanded that Jason give up his keys (which was atrocious, seeing as the lecture about punching Timmy in the face had entirely sobered him up). Everyone had eventually wandered off to bed, leaving just him, Tim's unconscious body, Barbara, and Dick. They'd talked for a while, but once Dick brought up once more the toothbrush situation Jason had stormed off to bed.

Now he was beginning to regret it, because he was too jittery to sleep and had been staring at the closed window for thirty minutes now. The talking downstairs had finally died down, and he could only assume that everyone had gone to bed, though he'd never heard any footsteps down the hall. Perhaps the two remaining vigilantes had fallen asleep with Roy and Kori.

But then his doorknob could be heard turning and the door opened just a tiny amount before quickly closing.

The mattress next to him sunk and a petite hand rested on his bare shoulder. "You up?"

He turned to face the intruder with a knowing smile on his lips. "Usually, why?"

She smiled in return, sliding her leg over his body to straddle his hips. Grabbing his hands, their fingers poked and prodded at each other before intertwining and coming to rest on her bare thighs. "So Tim knows then?"

Jason chuckled. "Yeah," he whispered, looking up into her blue eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkness, shining beacons in a sea of obscurity. "It's a safe bet."

"And the odds are against him keeping it to himself, wouldn't you say?" She lifted his hands off her thighs and moved them to a space on his pillow, leaning forward to press them down.

"I would say so," he said. His tone was low, a smirk toying with his lips. "What should we do about it?" He squeezed her fingers, looking straight up into her face now. Her T shirt hung low from her form and brushed against his bare chest, tickling his skin and sending goosebumps across his body.

She bit her bottom lip, smiling in a way that drove him crazy. "I think we outta enjoy our last night of secrecy, don't you?"

Laughing, Jason released her fingers and placed his hands on her hips, rubbing his thumb in a circle across the bone. Her body shivered in response, and he couldn't help but widen his smile. "You know, I always used to dream about getting Barbara Gordon into this bed with me," he mused. "And now that I finally have you here, I'm tempted to say no."

A frown crossed her face, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Why would you wanna do that, Jaybird?"

Flinching at Roy's nickname, Jason continued on. "Well, babe," he said, slowly moving his hands up her side, pulling the T shirt with him. "You left your toothbrush at my apartment."


	6. Who's the Best Sidekick?

Stephanie, once again, found herself questioning why she'd volunteered for this job. Willingly, with no threat of death looming over her head. She only had two hands, and she volunteered to do this job all by herself, knowing about her physical limitations to do said job.

How did the rest of her vigilante squad expect her to carry seven Starbucks cups all by herself, while jumping across rooftops to get back to _the_ rooftop. They were all just standing around waiting.

Six other very skilled, very capable vigilantes. That's twelve other hands.

But _**no**_ , Stephanie has to carry all six of them in her two hands.

Part of her wanted to drink half of them, lighten the load, and tell the others that they should've carried their own coffees. But Stephanie was no quitter. She'd volunteered for this job, and god dammit she was going to see it through.

Finally, their voices could be heard and she very carefully fired her grapple up to where they were, careful not to spill any of the piping hot liquid on herself. She heaved her body over the ledge, no thanks to the lazily standing around group of masked individuals surrounding her. "Too many cups," she said, feigning breathlessness. "Too many sidekicks."

Barbara, fully decked out in her Batgirl outfit, offered her hand to the blonde girl laying on the ground. "We aren't really 'sidekicks' anymore, Steph," she said, smiling as she pulled the other girl up.

Red Hood approached as well, unclasping his helmet and removing it completely to reveal the chuckling face of Jason Todd. "Yeah, the only two here that are still directly affiliated with the big bad Bat are Batgirl and Robin." He grabbed four cups out of Stephanie's hands and turned back to the larger group.

"Says the one with the big red Bat on his chest," Nightwing said, grabbing his cup and taking a sip.

Stephanie looked around as the cups she'd delivered were being distributed. "Why does Batman have so many sidekicks?" she mused, accidentally out loud.

They all turned to look at her, contemplating her thought.

Jason took a sip from his drink, eyebrows furrowed together in thought. "I don't know, but he should've stopped with me." His tone was a definitive one, as if he was challenging the others to argue with him.

Stephanie merely rolled her eyes. "Why?" she asked, using her own cup to warm her hands. "Cause you died? Don't pretend you're the only one in the Dead Robin's Club."

Ticking his finger at her, Jason swallowed another gulp of coffee. "No," he said simply. "Because I was the best." He was smirking now, confident in his answer. "Also, don't pretend you're a member, Miss 'Faked My Death and Lived in Africa'."

Red Robin approached now, drink in hand. "Yeah, and Steph was only Robin for like a month." The nose of his mask was covered in condensation from the steam of his drink, but Tim practically lived on coffee, and had probably burned all of his taste buds off at this point. "Also, I don't know what world you're living in, Jay. Because I'm clearly the best Robin."

"Says you, Drake." Damian had been miraculously quiet throughout the conversation, especially since it was finally time to show off egos. Stephanie had begun to worry when he'd pipe up. "I was literally bred for this job. Even my genes are perfect for being Robin."

Jason laughed. "You're both just replacements."

"So are you," Dick laughed. "You're all just poor copies of the original."

"Father has been seeking perfection since the beginning, and he has finally found me," Damian said.

"He chose me to be his son, Talia forced you on him," Jason said, jabbing a finger in Damian's direction. "I was legally adopted as his son before I died. By the way, I feel like my death in the line of duty cements me as the best Robin."

"Bruce chose me too!" Dick shouted, pouting out his lower lip. "He adopted me too!"

Tim shook his head. "He never legally adopted you, Dick. Just Jason and Damian."

"I never needed to be adopted," Damian said triumphantly. "I was not some poor orphan boy living in the gutter."

"Guys!" Stephanie shouted, silencing everyone. "It's not like it matters, because I was the best Robin hands down."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Steph, you barely count as Robin." He ignored his girlfriend's glaring eyes as he gulped down more of his coffee. "Tactically speaking, I'm the best Robin. It's not even a competition."

Jason laughed, accidentally spitting out some of his coffee as he did so. "I'm a thousand times better than you, Replacement." Tim mumbled something about that nickname being old now while Jason wiped the coffee from his lips.

"I feel like we should revisit the idea that I was the best Robin," Stephanie persisted.

"You were only Robin for a month," Jason sait matter-of-factly, rolling his eyes.

"And you got fired," Tim remembered.

Stephanie put her hands on her hips in annoyance. "And?"

Tim smiled, as if Stephanie was a child who wasn't understanding the punchline of a joke told between grown-ups. "Being benched gets you disqualified." All the other heroes grunted or mumbled in agreement, nodding their heads as they did so.

Stephanie's mouth dropped, flabbergasted. "Doesn't anyone think I'm the best Robin?" she asked, her voice an octave higher. A resounding 'no' was enough of a confidence killer for Stephanie, but she immediately bucked up and set out to prove herself once more. "Well I was definitely the best Batgirl, then." She spoke with the confidence of someone who had never been wrong in her life, let alone someone who was denied mere seconds before hand.

"Excuse you," said Barbara, cup-less hand resting on her hip angrily. "I was the best Batgirl. I've been doing it the longest, and I was the original."

Cass, who'd been predictably quiet throughout this conversation, held her cup between both hands, sipping occasionally and watching the other bicker. But now, she spoke up. "I was the most efficient." Her voice was quiet, her words gentle but carrying something they all knew to be true.

"Yeah," Steph said, holding up a finger as if to pause all other arguments. "But I have the most charisma."

Jason laughed once more. "Your charisma resulted in puns that were, dare I say, worse than Dick's from when he was Robin."

"My puns weren't bad!" Dick shouted in defense of himself. "And Stephanie's are pretty good, too." He looked around, waiting for validation that wasn't going to come. When he realized it was never coming, he raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, I admit that some of them were pretty bad. But some even made Bruce laugh!"

"Pity laughs don't count," Tim said simply. His coffee was gone, and his crumped cup sat on the ground by his feet, waiting to be thrown away. "Stephanie's weren't worse, but they were definitely horrible. Especially the lines you used to say when we first met."

"My early Spoiler days?" She asked, confused. "That was all gold material!"

"'Watch out evil doers! You're about to be spoiled!'" Jason imitated, raising out pointer finger above his head like the campy super hero shows from the early days of television.

Stephanie narrowed her eyes. "How do you know I said that? Weren't you busy rotting in the ground?"

Jason smirked. "I've seen the videos."

"What videos?!" Stephanie shouted.

"If you were a good sidekick to the World's Greatest Detective," Tim said, smiling triumphantly. "You'd know that, wouldn't you?" He reached for Stephanie's coffee while he spoke, already craving more caffeine. "As the best detective of the bunch, that makes me the best Robin, easily."

Damian held his hands up, stacking them on top of each other to show levels. "This is the order of Robins. Me, Grayson, then Drake, then Todd, then Fatgirl."

"Hey!" Stephanie shouted, and was completely ignored.

"What the hell?! I shouldn't be at the bottom!" Jason shouted, also discarding his empty cup. "Stephanie was only Robin for a month, and she fucked up so bad that she was fired. I was Robin for years. I died _as_ Robin!"

"You're worse than her." Damian's voice was arrogant. He wasn't even looking at the group, but out over the surrounding rooftops. "I, on the other hand, am the best. I have inherited Father's strength and intelligence."

"If we're discussing who's the most intelligent," Tim said. "I deduced Batman's identity when I was only nine. Even Bruce thinks I'm the smartest."

"Being smart will only get you so far, Timmers," Dick said, and then ignored Jason's mumbles about stealing his nickname, before continuing. "You have to be fast, and able to move around in tight spots. Out of all of us, I'm the most flexible and agile."

Jason stood up straighter, putting his helmet back on to cover his reddening cheeks and ears. "But you're the least muscular."

Dick frowned. "I'm muscular!" he shouted. "I'm just lean."

Tim put his hand up to silence the forming argument. "The best way to decide," he said. "Is to measure by a few easily determining factors. Strength, agility, intelligence, and charisma should be able to cover it."

They all took a few moments to contemplate. Jason had one hand resting on the chin of his mask. Cass cautiously sipped at her coffee, silently contemplating. Tim's eyes darted back and forth between each of the other's in the group. Barbara folded her arms across her chest, her eyes on Dick. Dick had one hand on his hips, the other reaching around and rubbing the back of his neck. Damian's narrowed eyes looked down to the ground as the gears turned in his head.

Stephanie was intrigued watching them all. It was already been simultaneously agreed upon that she was disqualified, and – while disheartening – relieved her from taking part in the competition. She now stood as a bystander to the fight.

Moments seemed to pass, dragging on while everyone thought about what they'd say next. Until finally, "I think Barbara is the best Batgirl." Jason was the first to speak, breaking the silence.

Tim smirked, prepared to trap Jason. "So Jason's voting for me as Best Robin," he declared, crossing his arms.

Shaking his head in confusion, Jason stepped forward. "How'd you get to that conclusion, Timbo?" He placed his hands on his hips, squaring his shoulders. Stephanie had only ever noticed a few times before how much bigger than the other boys Jason was.

"She and I have the same skill sets," Tim said. "I'm the most intelligent out of any of you. Even though I'm not the strongest or most muscular, I can handle myself in most situations. I'm not as talkative as Dick, but I talk enough to throw my opponents off." His lips curled up in a triumphant grin, staring Jason down as if daring him to disagree.

Barbara, still contemplating her answer, nodded her hand. "He has a point, but I think Dick was the best Robin."

"Gee I wonder why," Damian said, rolling his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean, brat?" Barbara asked, her tone vicious.

Jason giggled. "We all know you're biased," he said, waving his hand in the air as he spoke. Stephanie smiled mischievously, trying to contain her laughter at the events unfolding before her.

"Why would you say that?" Barbara asked, teeth grinding together. Stephanie's laughter bubbled up inside her as she realized that Babs was going to make someone say it out loud.

"Just because you're sleeping with him doesn't make him the best, it makes your judgement weak," Damian said, his tone dead pan and pragmatic. "And I will not be demoted because of it."

"Dick is the best because he's the original," Barbara said, anger oozing out of her skin. "If I was going to pick someone based on _that_ , I could've picked Jason."

"Well, why didn't you?" Jason said, feigning offense.

"So, Stephanie is the best Batgirl then?" Tim asked, gesturing toward Barbara. "In the listed categories, she matches the most up with Dick. And their puns are equally horrendous."

"My puns weren't bad!" Dick shouted.

Damian scoffed. "Using past tense makes it seem like you no longer make horrendous jokes," he said. "That is misleading."

Dick's frown deepened significantly. "You've laughed at some of my jokes, Lil D." His voice sounded broken, as if Damian had ripped his heart out, crumpled it, and discarded it with the growing pile of empty coffee cups.

" _ **Enough.**_ "

Everyone turned quickly, to see Batman standing there, arms crossed across his chest and a scowl set deep in his face. Moments passed by silently, waiting for him to say another word. They were met with that same hardened expression, and more deafening silence.

"I prefer Alfred to all of you."


	7. Nightmares

Something about night time made a home feel so empty, so abandoned. During the day, with sunlight beaming in from the grand windows and laughter bouncing through the halls, one could gather a sense of warmth from being inside Wayne Manor. But at night, the only light coming in was moonlight, draping the interior with pale, still light. Silence seemed to radiate within the mansion, so complete that one couldn't be sure if a noise had been made, even if the sound originated from you. At night, no matter how many of the rooms were full, the mansion was filled with stagnant air and a depressing silence.

This was what greeted Barbara Gordon when gasped awake in the middle of night. Darkness and silence.

Images from her mind still played before her eyes, sounds still ringing in her ears in those brief seconds after she'd opened her eyes. Bright red flames and tiny hands reaching out to her. Screams and crackling and crashing.

She closed her eyes once more, forcing her mind back to reality. Pushing forward, she sat up and breathed in a long, deep breath. Her heart was pounding against her rib cage painfully. The rhythm was soothing almost, something to focus on while she pulled herself out of her nightmare. Continuing her long, slow breaths, her hand sought out the glass of water that she had on the nightstand, only to realize it was empty.

Grinding her teeth, Barbara swiped the glass away from the nightstand and pushed the comforter off her legs. The static air chilled her skin as she climbed about of bed, feet shivering against the cold wooden floors.

Briefly, she contemplated grabbing a pair of sweats to wear on her journey for water, before deciding against it. A short journey didn't require pants.

Her heart, which she had just calmed, suddenly began to panic as she reached for the doorknob. The darkness and silence seemed overwhelming, and her mind once more returned to the image of fire. Shaking the thought away from her head, she set her jaw and opened the door into the vast nothingness of the mansion at night.

Plenty of times before she'd made this exact journey, and each of those times she'd done it without anxiety or fear plaguing her mind. However, it was rare that a nightmare stuck with her the way this one seemed to. Every silent step she took away from her bedroom seemed to be carrying her further away from safety.

Barbara scolded herself as she reached the end of the staircase and made her way towards the kitchen. This was silly. It was just a dream and it was over, she was alone.

Filling her glass from the refrigerator, she looked around to see just how alone she really was.

And instead her eyes conjured images of tiny hands, reaching into the pale light that the fridge offered, stretching towards her toes. Barbara's eyes widened, fear tightening its firm grip on her heart. Fighting to remain calm, she told herself once more that it wasn't real and took a deep breath.

Her glass was full and she pressed it to her lips, slowly drinking without ever taking her eyes off the shadows until they returned to the realm of fiction where they belonged.

Despite the adrenaline rushing through her system, her eyelids sagged with fatigue. After school and work and patrol, Barbara was beyond exhausted and had been so looking forward to the blissful embrace of slumber. To her dismay, she was instead met with the terrors of her subconscious. As tired as she was, a fearful voice whispered in her ear that her terrors would return with more slumber.

The atmosphere felt heavy on her shoulders, pushing against her as if she were deep underwater. It was silent, lonely, and – as the light in the refrigerator switched off once more – complete darkness.

Thinking about going back up to her large, empty bed to be once more overcome with fear practically paralyzed Barbara.

Using an embarrassing amount of force, she pushed her foot forward in laborious steps back towards the stairs. Each step was heavy and calculated and meticulous, but she slowly climbed the steps and started down the hallway.

In the opposite direction of her own bedroom.

Before she had time to talk herself out of it, Barbara opened the door and swiftly closed it behind her, leaning against it and breathing a sigh of relief.

In this room, a large window had the curtains drawn, allowing in plenty of moonlight to illuminate the room. There was a fan circulating the air and keeping the paralyzing silence at bay. The room had a clean, cozy feel to it. Pristine, but not in a 'doctor office' sense. The bed was huge, grey sheets bunched up around the large body filling the space within them. His breathing could be heard even across the room where Barbara sat.

She bit her lip nervously. This was silly, she could easily sleep in her own room without having to disturb anyone else. But then she thought back to all the times he – or others – had crawled into her bed for this exact reason and she swallowed her pride.

Approaching the bed, she reached a hand out. He was laying on his side, his back facing her. The blankets stopped covering him around the middle of his bare torso, and he had a pillow in a chokehold against his chest.

"Jason," she whispered as her fingers gently made contact with his shoulder.

Suddenly his hand had gripped her wrist tightly, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain. He sat up, turned to face her, and grabbed her other hand all in one motion. His eyes were wide and alert, glowing Lazarus green in the dark. As his mind caught up with his body, he realized he'd grabbed Barbara and immediately let her go.

"Shit," he murmured, relaxing into his bed once more. "Sorry, Babs, you scared me."

A soft laugh made its way past her lips. Jason leaned against the headboard, hands behind his head. Even in the moonlight, the powerful muscles beneath his skin were well defined with each relaxed movement he made. "Sorry," she whispered, staring at him from beside the bed.

He looked at her for a moment, one eyebrow raised. "So, what's up?" He lowered his arms once more, pushing his hands through his hair as he did so.

Once more, Barbara bit her lip, rubbing her hands along her arms nervously. "Would it be okay- " Her eyes avoided his, choosing instead to roam around the room. "It's just that it's kind of weird to go to Dick's room, and Tim and Damian aren't exactly physical people, and Bruce is so… _Bruce_ , and," She looked back to him, his expression expectant. "Can I sleep in here?"

He smiled. For a moment, Barbara pondered how different Sleepy Jason was from Awake Jason. Sleepy Jason smiled with his eyes closed, his eyebrows rose just a tiny bit. He smiled a toothy grin, a small chuckle bubbling out of his chest as he scooted across the bed and motioned for her to climb in. He lifted the blanket, allowing her to wriggle in between the sheets until she was comfortable.

Barbara turned onto her side, doing the same for him until he was lying beside her. She pushed against him, intertwining her bare legs with his, resting her head on his shoulder. Jason wrapped his arm around her, his hand coming to rest in the curve of her side just before her hip bone.

They stayed like this, silent and still, until she could feel him fall back asleep. Something about being in Jason's room, nestled into his chest, the fan blowing cool air over her body made it seem that the nightmare only existed outside the confines of those four walls. As if when she'd closed the door she'd blocked out the fear that had previously nested in her chest, keeping it at bay in the dark corridor outside. Barbara smiled when she felt sleepiness tug on her eyelids, and she gladly let it take her.


End file.
